


fabrilis

by bunshima



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Gore, Gross, lucilius is fucked up and ive taken the time to accentuate that with this lil fic of mine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 08:49:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14516781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunshima/pseuds/bunshima
Summary: “–I'd like your opinion on a new specimen. Come. It's in the new wing.”





	fabrilis

**Author's Note:**

> this was written on a whim after i managed to get enough info abt wmtsb I/II thru fandom osmosis so YEHA
> 
> disclaimer: not proofread, literally just branches off that one part in "what makes the sky blue I" and gets gross quite fast, when i say gross i mean it, special surprise guest included

“–I'd like your opinion on a new specimen. Come. It's in the new wing.”

“Understood.” Lucifer’s head bows subtly before he follows Lucilius’ step.

The evening sun dyes all it touches in orange and red hues. A breeze gently ruffles his feathers as he joins his creator's side. Their short exchange has left its mark on him. It is as if Lucilius’ revelation had tied a rope around his throat and his remark about Sandalphon had only tightened it, robbing him of his breath. Lucifer doubts his creator's words; there's a first for everything, after all. Sandalphon isn't useless. He's sure of it. If only he could convince him– but Lucifer knows Sandalphon in a way no one else does. Lucilius wouldn't understand nor would he like what his masterpiece could tell him.

With the prospect of another purposeless entity among their rows, Lucifer has to ask, “Pardon my curiosity, but what will… this one's purpose be?”

“Consider it a test of my craft and abilities.”, Lucilius replies without looking at him, and Lucifer doesn't like the glimpse of his expression that he manages to catch. Something has changed in his demeanor, and he senses that. “If I find no suitable purpose, it would be a shame, but I shall make do and get rid of it.”

“Of course.”, Lucifer responds as they pass the richly crested archway of the new laboratory wing.

A familiar stench wafts towards him, causing him to crinkle his nose just a bit. It reeks of rubbing alcohol and gore. Every other being would be disturbed– traumatized even– by the hundreds of possible implications, but he can feel himself relax. His wings bristle all content when they step into the entrance area. He was born in very similar circumstances; Lucifer feels like a child returning to his mother's bosom. Even the marble itself looks familiar, together with the metal pipes stretching along parts of the ceiling. However, the atmosphere, the flair that surrounds this place, doesn't occur to him. The horrors that take place behind closed doors are familiar, but none of it is questioned by Lucifer.

At the end of the hall, there's a heavy iron gate, separating them from the rest of the facility. Next to it stands an iron trolley with different utensils, some of which could be considered instruments of torture, along with more common medical equipment and folded wet rags. Lucilius puts on a pair of gloves and takes one of the rags to use it to shield his nose and mouth from what might await them beyond the door.

"Would you kindly open the gate for me?", comes Lucilius' voice, muffled by fabric.

Lucifer does as he's told in an almost unnaturally stiff manner, as if the words of his maker on their own are enough to drive him forward. It takes an insane amount of strength to push open the thick slab of steel with his side, so much that he could've sworn he heard his shoulder pop under the strain. Behind the massive gate awaits him pitch-black darkness. Behind him, something hits the marble an exact three times before a bright shine comes forth, shedding light upon the dark laboratory. Lucilius sets foot past him with his lit staff in hand. Huh. How practical.

"Follow me.", he orders and Lucifer follows suit mindlessly, letting go of the gate which falls shut on its own. Lucilius' staff doesn't help much, but at least it lights their path. Patches of thick iron grids are set into the floor and Lucifer has enough respect to avoid walking directly on it. The light is barely enough to showcase what's below the grids, but that is enough. He can barely look at it to begin with.

It's deep red– blood red– and bubbling with gas. It stinks of blood and guts and rot, unbearably so. Lucifer recalls overhearing his kin calling this their very own primordial soup. It is what it is: molten cores, dissolved lesser beings, samples that Lucilius has gathered over his lifetime, rejects that were blended into pulp, and all of it mixed into a giant mass of genetic material. The astral's legacy is but a grotesque mess.

It's all so familiar. And yet, Lucifer is disgusted, so disgusted that he doesn't notice the bigger horrors filling the room, at least until Lucilius' light shines upon them. Giant glass tanks, three rows of them, connected with the metal tubing in the ceiling. Outside, one barely could've guessed about what goes on in these halls, but here, the machinery bursts with life, hissing and bubbling droning in Lucifer's ears. Some tanks are empty. And some, in turn, harbor a core, along with parts of the mass from beneath the grids which try to attach to it. It all swims in a solution akin to amniotic fluid– they're called the glass wombs of Estalucia for good reason.

Lucifer has created Sandalphon like this. Even he used to be no more than a core with strands of raw muscle hanging from it. Lucilius didn't design him to feel negative emotion at all, but Lucifer can feel it. Discomfort seeps into his gut. He attempts to swallow but the noose around his throat doesn't let him. The supreme primarch finds himself at the verge of panic. His breathing speeds, muscles tense. But Lucilius had planned in advance, as it seems. There's a faint something in the back of his head. A soothing thought. That's all it really takes. His instincts tell him to relax, that he's home, that he's with his "mother" who doesn't exist to begin with. And in the end, they win.

In his fit of panic, Lucifer had stopped mid-walk– not that Lucilius appears to mind. The light is a ways ahead. His maker stands before one of the tanks in the back of the hall, dead quiet. Without a second thought, he steps forth, at his creator's side. Lucilius is awe-struck and utterly speechless before his very own creation.

"What do you think of it?" There's a tremor in his voice.

Lucifer's gaze that was fixated on the metal tray with scalpels of different sizes before him now switches to the pale-faced body in the tank. Compared to the other ones, this one is a fully grown adult with two pairs of folded wings, the entirety of their body covered in a pearly white membrane. The membrane itself has countless little veins running through it. Oxygen bubbles in clear waters. The new subject seems to be sleeping soundly, twitching only occasionally. They're curled up, yet Lucifer can tell that their size surpasses his own. In fact, they're massive, especially in comparison to the archangels Lucilius has created so far.

"They... They look like me.", Lucifer manages to say.

"I created it after my image after all.", Lucilius responds. He turns to Lucifer and puts a hand on his shoulder. There's a pause. "My dear Lucifer, you remain my magnum opus to this day, but this one... It is among my greater creations, although I have yet to think of a proper purpose for it." His voice is soft, loving, almost.

Suddenly, there's movement in the transparent egg sac. Something curls beneath its frail surface. A tail. How peculiar. Only after this realization Lucifer also notices the faint outlines of long claws. It's clear: this subject is more on the beastly side. Fascinating, yet worrying.

Lucilius seems to notice his curious gazes and his lips curl into a smile, "I have taken a few artistic liberties this time around. You'll see." His tone is sweet, but dripping with ill intent. Attached to the side of the apparatus is a lever that's seemingly connected to the tubing, and Lucilius' free hand has already taken it into a death grip. "Hold my staff and step aside. I shall drain the tank."

Again, Lucifer does as he's told and takes his creator's staff from his hold before stepping onto the opposite side of the tank. If he didn't have that neatly placed blockade inside his head, the supreme primarch would go back to panicking now, but his surroundings, the familiar scent of dissolved flesh and god knows what else, being welcomed back into his "mother"'s embrace– it all feels so soothing. And so, he quietly watches over Lucilius as he puts both hands onto the lever and pulls it towards himself with great efforts. Metal creaks and loud sloshing below their feet follows as the months old contents of the glass womb are flushed from it and flow into the mass below. Lucifer can barely suppress his gagging. The stench is unimaginable. Eventually, the glass tube is lifted by a mechanism atop its metal bracket and the curled subject falls sideways onto the grids with loud rattling.

His creator reaches for the biggest scalpel he can get right away. Gloved fingers curl into the protective layer to pull it away from the body and carve into the almost leather-like membrane with haste. They don't move; Lucifer can't tell if they've passed or if they don't make a single attempt freeing themself out of obedience. Within the next minute, Lucilius has managed to cut them free of a majority of their egg sac, but still, no movement, no signs of life. He may only watch on. If there's one thing the astral can't stand, it's when there's amateurs disrupting his pace at work.

"For skies' sake.", Lucilius growls while he shakes a dark purple liquid off his hands– blood? Sweat is wiped off his forehead with the sleeve of his robes. "Quick, my staff."

Lucifer doesn't hesitate with handing it back. Though, he doesn't know what to expect. What good can his staff too? The astral takes the thin staff into both hands as he stands sideways, aiming for the subject's–

The primarch is unable to finish his observation of the odd scene before him, thoughts are cut off by a loud sound akin to the crack of a whip and the being's first bubbling cry as they force the life-giving fluids out of their now working lungs. The next cry is almost like the keen of a newborn child, echoing through the large hall. Their large frame shakes violently as they sob and mewl more with their newfound voice. Truly, the miracle of birth, retold by a madman who has no idea what he's speaking about. The subject's feathers quiver with life and it seems that they try to make their first flight attempt already, even if with quite clumsy strokes of their wings. The long tail curls around their form almost protectively. Again, Lucifer is rendered speechless. It is an odd fact that he was once in the same position, created with the same means.

"Ah, music to my ears.", Lucilius sighs wistfully as he begins to prod the newborn angel, who twitches reflexively and even utters a weak hiss at the sudden intrusions. "I was just about afraid I had wasted my time with it, but... I remember well. You had the same difficulties, Lucifer."

The supreme primarch wants to respond with his gaze still cast down at the wheezing subject, but the will to do so vanishes when vibrant purple eyes meet his light blue ones. Slanted pupils fixate on him, almost like their owner is already aware of who he is. It might be a stretch, but Lucifer thinks he can see a spark of admiration in their gaze.

"Oh, good." Lucilius' purr breaks Lucifer from that moment him and the new angel had shared. "It's reacting to outer stimuli." The pointed end of his staff meets their chin, gently guiding their head and attention toward himself. A long pause follows. Lucilius seems to look in the gaze that his newest creation is giving him, taking it in for multiple, excrutiatingly long moments.

"You.", the astral finally begins with his voice being close to a bellow, loud and clear, "From this day on, your name shall be Azazel."

 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!!! (comments + kudos appreciated)


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